After the storm

Here is the text of the homily I prepared for those who came to pray with us this weekend: some thoughts about the storms in life that seem to threaten us, and about the constant presence of Jesus who accompanies us even at times when we would think him absent.

Peace, be still!

In January of this year, I travelled to Southern India.  Father Rex Lumine, who lives with us at the rectory, helped me to plan the journey and accompanied me at every step of the way.  He proudly showed me many wonderful parts of this beautiful country and introduced me to many of the priests with whom he has worked, the people he loves so dearly and the land that he still calls home.

On the day that I arrived, as we were travelling from the airport to the hospital that we would call home, Father Rex told me that our host, Father Hieronymous Cruz, had a surprise for me.  When we arrived, Father Hieronymous came bounding out the front door and running in our direction, his two arms outstretched, bearing a seven-foot long piece of silk.  Before I realized what was happening, I was enveloped in a beautiful silk scarf.  I found out quickly that this is customary in that part of the world.  Visitors and guests of honour are welcomed with the simple but deeply meaningful gesture of being enwrapped in a silk scarf which instantly becomes theirs to keep.

Two weeks ago, Father Rex and I went to the Toronto airport to meet Father Hieronymous.  Five months after our earlier meeting, the visitors and the host had switched roles, and it was our turn to show him some of this beautiful land.  

Father Hieronymous is a person of some fame, a beloved spiritual director, known to many of the priests from Southern India who are currently living in our diocese, yet to speak with him, one would never guess that he is a well-known scripture scholar.  He is warm and welcoming, curious to learn about newcomers but never intrusive in his mannerisms: the kind of person who instantly creates an atmosphere of welcome, but reserves just enough mystique to make others want to know more, and this trait is perhaps what makes him such a wonderful teacher.

In some ways, I think that an attitude of warmth, hospitality and respect might also be used to describe the way that God welcomes us and invites us to enter into relationship with him.  Jesus was the one who recognized the potential for greatness in some of those he met as he walked along the seashore, the one who issued a simple invitation that has resounded ever since in the ears and hearts of those who have heard it: Come, follow me (Mt 4:18-19).  Each of the disciples must have been intrigued when they received this invitation.  At the same time, they heard a voice that seemed to echo in their hearts, the voice of a wonderful teacher who reassured them even as he compelled them to leave everything behind.  A voice that was both welcoming and intriguing.  This voice still speaks to our hearts today.  It begins with words of welcome that are joyfully proclaimed: Come, follow me! It continues with gentle invitations to share our own personal stories, all the while urging us on as we become more and more convinced that Jesus loves us, each of us, so much that he gave his life for us, so that we who live might live no longer for ourselves but for him who died and was raised for us (cf 2 Cor 5:14-15).

I can imagine that the disciples' attention must have been immediately captured by the words Jesus was spoke, by the stories he told, by the ease with which he shared his knowledge and his wisdom.  Not only were those disciples able to hear the words he spoke to the crowds, they also were invited into his inner sanctum, given a precious opportunity to enter into conversation with him and to learn from him as we today might learn from a wise and wonderful teacher.  So it is that when he finished teaching the crowds one day, as evening came, he said to the disciples: Let us go across to the other side (Mk 4:35).  They did not hesitate to get into the boat with him, yet none of them could have guessed that the master teacher had another lesson to teach that night.

The Sea of Galilee is not an overly deep body of water.  It is prone to sudden storms, so when a great windstorm arose (Mk 4:37), you can imagine that it must have been a rather sudden occurrence.  Having lived around that Sea all their lives, this would not have been the first time that Peter and his companions would have been in a boat at night on those waters, nor would they have been strangers to the sudden shifts in weather patterns.  Even so, as the waves beat into the boat, so that it was quickly being swamped, it must have seemed curious to them that Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion (Mk 4:38).

If I were to ask you to turn to the person next to you and to speak for a moment about your own experience of faith, perhaps at least some of us would speak of times when we have heard Jesus calling to us: Come, follow me!  Perhaps at least some of us have known times in our lives when we have even been compelled to live our lives no longer for ourselves, but for others, yet if we're truly honest with ourselves, we would also have to admit that there are still moments in our lives when we feel like the disciples in that boat: scared, perhaps even terrified by something that seems beyond the scope of our own control.

Throughout history, many of the heroic saints have shown us that it is possible to follow in Jesus’ footsteps, even in moments and circumstances that might cause us to question ourselves.  In such moments, we cry out to God for help: Do you not care that we are perishing? (Mk 4:38) ... yet it often seems to us that he is asleep, oblivious to the storm that is raging around us.

The truth is that Jesus is never oblivious to the storms that test us.  He is always close to us, even at times when we might think him far away.  If we listen, we will always hear his voice – a voice that can command even the powers of nature: Peace, be still! (Mk 4:39).  It is a voice that speaks quietly, invitingly and lovingly to his beloved children: Why are you afraid?  Have you still no faith? (Mk 4:40).